Conversations with Vacant Chairs
by BalletRat
Summary: COMPLETE. It started with Meg Giry entering the Ghost's box on a dare. Now, all the ballet girls are finding themselves face-to-face with the infamous Opera Ghost at the most inconvenient times. Please read and review!
1. Meg

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Gaston Leroux estate, nor do I pretend to be. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: This is my second Phantom of the Opera fic. It is, again, starring Meg, though this time I threw some Erik in there for you. If he is at all out of character, by all means let me know. Set at no specific time, so place it at any period of time you see fit. Please review!

_Conversations with Vacant Chairs_

Meg Giry was quite a daring girl. As such, she was more often than not the first to accept a dare given by another girl on an idle day when they were not needed at rehearsal. The other girls admired her for it, and Meg enjoyed the attention. So it was not odd at all that today, when Reyer was only working with leads in rehearsal, Meg had accepted a dare to not only wander the corridors all alone, but to sit in the Opera Ghost's box for five whole minutes. Hardly odd at all. In fact, the other girls expected it of her. Meg had an image to protect.

So now, three minutes after accepting the dare, Meg found herself walking quickly down the hall, careful not to be caught by her mother or any other stray adult as she wound her way to Box Five. Stealthily she crept along, looking over her shoulder every few seconds or so, making sure that she was not being followed. Meg had insisted that she did not need accompaniment from any of the other girls, assuring them that she was honorable and would not skive off going to the box and merely wander around for five minutes to fool them. Now, however, she wished she had accepted Jammes' offer to go with her and wait outside, if only so that Meg would not feel so alone right now. But no, her pride had gotten the better of her in the dressing room, and she had insisted that she go alone.

"Little fool," she berated herself. "Now look what you've gotten yourself into."

At last, Meg reached her destination. She wasn't sure if she was glad or upset to now be standing outside of the ghost's box, slipping a pin out of her hair in order to pick the lock.

Upon doing so, Meg placed her white hand on the knob and turned it, wincing as the door creaked loudly. Carefully and as quietly as the wretched door would allow, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.

Meg knelt down on the floor when she realized that any one of the leads or Reyer could look up from the stage and see her creeping around in a private box. She waited, crouching on the scarlet carpet with bated breath, listening to make sure that she had caused no interruptions. Upon hearing no halt in Reyer's strict procedure, Meg quietly righted herself and stood, half-concealed from the stage by a large pillar. Meg took a deep breath and began to count the seconds.

Below, Carlotta had begun to thunder out her aria with such force and fierce vibrato that Meg felt she might fall over. Instead, she opted for covering her ears, so ghastly was the sound. She supposed she would never understand what made a good soprano. God only knew that this Opera did not contain one.

Just as she began to drop her hands from her aching ears, she heard a voice that was not coming from the stage, but from the chair to her right, in the front row of the box. Meg's face blanched, and had she not been frightened down to her toes, which seemed glued to the spot, she would have fled the box entirely.

"I can see that you feel the same as I do in regards to the vocal styling of our resident diva," it said conversationally.

Then the Voice began to laugh in a way that sent chills all the way to Meg's bones. Her heart was beating at an abnormal pace, and Meg placed a hand over it in a vain attempt to quiet the frantic organ. The Voice continued to laugh, and Meg vaguely realized that it was not laughing at Carlotta, but at her.

Terrified and shaking like a scared rabbit, Meg dared to test her own voice. "Who is that?" Her voice was no more than a trembling whisper and her knees felt suddenly weak, as if speaking those three words had caused her tremendous strain-- which, in all honesty, they had.

The Voice had stopped laughing, and Meg thought for a minute that it would not answer her. But then, with a softness that startled her, it replied: "Why, surely you know the Opera Ghost when you hear him, don't you, little Giry?"

Meg stared at the seat that the Voice seemed to come from, her eyes glazing over. "The Opera Ghost," she repeated hoarsely. "Is it really you?"

"Mais oui, little Giry. I would expect that you of all people would know that it is indeed I. You and your little friend Jammes seem to be so keen to catch me in the corridors, or in your dressing rooms. In fact, is not your entire purpose of being here in my box to catch a glimpse of me?"

Meg opened and closed her mouth like a fish for a few moments, words seeming to have escaped her. She could swear that at that moment, if the Ghost had a body, it would be shaking with laughter.

"I-I," she began to stutter. "I suppose it is. I-it was a dare to come h-here. I was s-supposed to stay here for f-five minutes. I'm s-sorry if I've disturbed you. I-I'll leave now--"

"No," the Ghost interrupted her, "there is no reason for you to leave. I was in fact getting ready to depart soon myself. As you have discovered, one's eardrums do not agree with vast amounts of Carlotta's wailing."

Despite herself, Meg snickered. Realizing she had done so, she clamped a hand over her mouth, as though to laugh in the presence of the Ghost was alike to uttering a curse word.

"You are shocked that a ghost can possess a sense of humor?" Meg thought that if the Ghost had a face, it would be raising an inquisitive brow.

"Well, in all honesty, yes I am." Meg felt faintly rude, though she couldn't explain why. "It's just that the girls and I have seen you about, and you seem to be so somber and sullen that it seems strange that you jest like everyone else. I didn't think that ghosts could be amusing."

She heard him laugh again, that low, rumbling chuckle. It gave her chills.

"I can assure you that there is plenty to jest about in this House."

"You mean besides Carlotta?" She asked, and he laughed again. For some reason, she liked hearing that laugh, even though it was somewhat frightening.

"As a matter of fact, I find the corps de ballet rather amusing," he said, and Meg imagined that if the Ghost had eyes, they would be pegging her with a stare.

"Really? And what is it about us that is so humorous?" Though she tried to ignore it, Meg was starting to feel that she was about to be insulted.

"Well, in regards to your actual dancing, if you care to call it that," the Ghost began, "Your little friend Lisette prances like a limping mare; Janette could not do a clean pirouette to save her life, and believe me, I've had half a mind to test the theory--" Meg gasped, "-- I haven't though, as you can see; Marie can leap no more than five inches off the floor; and little Jammes dances like a calf in a field." A heavy silence rang after the Ghost had finished his critique, and it seemed that even the singers on the stage had stopped rehearsal in order to be insulted along with Meg.

Meg took a deep breath and asked what she was sure the Ghost had refrained from stating in order to spare his present company's feelings: "And what of myself, monsieur?"

She though she heard the Ghost sigh. "Little Giry, I find your dancing to be the most pleasing to watch out of all the little girls in pink. Although this is not saying much, it is certainly not something to complain about." Meg imagined that if the Ghost had lips, they might be attempting to smile kindly.

"Merci, monsieur," Meg said, feeling as though that may have been the closest anyone had ever come to receiving a compliment from a critical spirit.

"De rien, mademoiselle."

For a while, Meg stood in what might have been called companionable silence with the Ghost, even though she still felt apprehensive. Carlotta had finished her aria, and Reyer had begun to plunk out the notes for the understudy, some quiet girl named Daae, or some such thing. As Meg stood watching the quiet girl get the evil eye from Carlotta, a thought occurred to her.

"What brings you to your box at this time of day, monsieur?" She asked the Ghost. "Do you simply enjoy witnessing rehearsals?"

Although she couldn't be sure, Meg thought she heard the Ghost give a wistful sigh.

"Yes, little Giry. I simply enjoy watching the progressions of the performances to make sure things are going well."

Curiosity compelled her. "Do you think things are going well?"

The Ghost gave a dark laugh. "Only in the cases of some."

Meg wasn't sure she understood what that meant, but decided not to press further.

After another long, heavy silence in which she imagined that the Ghost watched the rehearsal with a critical (though invisible) eye, Meg was startled out of a reverie by the Ghost's soft voice.

"I do believe it has been a bit longer than five minutes, little Giry. Surely your friends have begun to worry about you?"

"Oh!" Meg had almost forgotten that she was there because of a dare. "You're quite right, monsieur. I best be going."

"Well, Meg Giry, it was very nice speaking with you." Meg imagined that if the Ghost had legs, they would be straightening to stand for her.

Feeling slightly foolish, Meg gave a small curtsy. "It was quite nice talking with you, monsieur. From now on I shall try not to make up foolish stories about your being a ghoul." Meg smiled, hoping the Ghost caught her light tone.

A delighted laugh was her answer. "Yes, do try to restrain yourself, little Giry. And while you're at it, tell the other girls what I said about their dancing."

Meg's smile widened. "I shall." Turning, she placed her hand on the doorknob. "Au revoir, monsieur."

"Au revoir, mademoiselle."

Meg slipped out of the box and closed the door. Reaching down, she locked the door using her hairpin and set off down the hall.

------

The dressing room was a scene of organized chaos when Meg re-entered after her journey to Box Five. She was bombarded at once with what felt like two dozen frantic questions, the ballet girls crowding around her as if she were a holy relic.

Jammes pushed her way to the front and grasped Meg's hand tightly in hers.

"Oh, Meg, where have you been? You've been gone for nearly ten minutes! We only agreed on five!"

"I have?" Meg was surprised. It hadn't felt like that long at all.

"Yes! Oh, Meg, do tell us what happened!"

A chorus of agreements followed Jammes' plea, and the girls crowded closer together in a tight circle.

Meg looked from one face to another, and knew that they were all expecting a new horror story about bleeding walls or wicked disembodied laughter or some other frightening phenomenon. Meg felt torn. She had told the Ghost that she would not start any more rumors about him, but what else was she to do? Her public expected it of her, if one could call ten or eleven ballet girls a public. Besides, wouldn't it be much more appropriate if her real encounter with the Ghost stayed with her and her alone?

Making up her mind, Meg launched into a brilliantly improvised tale about menacing whispers coming from the walls and shadows of demons flashing across the stage.

Although her audience would never know the true tale of her stay in Box Five, they thrilled to her imaginary one, and Meg congratulated herself on her impressive genius.

And anyway, who would be interested in hearing stories about conversations with vacant chairs?

_Finis_

Author's Note: Like it? Hate it? Tell me. :)


	2. Lisette et Marie

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Gaston Leroux estate, nor do I pretend to be. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: This chapter (or indeed, the rest of this phic) is dedicated to the wonderful BlueBeauty, without whom this chapter would not even exist. She gave me the inspiration to continue with my idea of Meg meeting the Phantom and expand it to having the other girls meet him as well. It's shaping out so far to be a series of vignettes rather than an actual story with a solid plot, even though I guess it possesses one particular underlying theme and I may end up tying it all together in the last chapter. I've yet to decide. So for now, please read, review, and, if it's not too much trouble, enjoy.

_Lisette et Marie_

It had been three days since Meg Giry had told the other girls her tale of the horrors in Box Five. With a new story of terror so fresh in their minds, the girls had been virtually inseparable from La Sorelli, who found herself permanently surrounded by flocks of ballet girls wherever she went. The girls refused to go further than to the next dressing room alone, and they had taken to traveling in threes and fours if they were not with La Sorelli's large group.

On this particular day, the girls were in their dressing room lounging about before rehearsal. Lisette and Marie were off in a corner gossiping about Michelle, who had recently been seen in the company of a rather well to do patron. As such, they were not quite ready to get to rehearsal when the callboy rang his bell and the other girls trotted off in one large, frightened clump to go to practice.

"Hurry up or you'll be late, you two!" Janette called back to them as she exited the room.

"We'll be right there!" Marie hollered back, before bending down to tie on her satin slippers. Janette gave them one last glance and then closed the door.

Lisette was straightening her hair and gazing at herself in her peer glass, but was otherwise ready to go. She walked to the door and opened it, then glanced down the hall at the retreating backs of the other dancers. Nervous about being left behind to navigate the corridors alone, she hurried back over to Marie to make her get going.

"Hurry up, little sloth! The rest of the girls have already disappeared around the corner! I don't want to be left alone!" She began to tug on Marie's wrist.

"I'm hurrying! Stop being a fool. You won't be left alone, you little mouse. I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Yes, well, I'd rather be with a large group than a single sloth." 

"If you carry on like that then you can just walk right out the door and catch up with the rest of them!" Marie said indignantly.

"Oh, don't be silly, I don't mean it. Just hurry up, will you? I don't want to be scolded for being late." Lisette began to wring her hands and glance nervously at the open door.

"We won't be late, don't worry. Look, I'm ready to go now," Marie said, straightening up and smoothing her gauzy skirt.

"At long last," Lisette added, rolling her eyes.

The two girls walked to the door and peered out, both apprehensive about walking down the dimly lit corridor with nothing but each other to keep one another safe. Though one didn't know it of the other, they had each begun to think about Meg's recent ghoulish tale about the Ghost, and about how they were going to be just two small girls, pitted against the terrible tricks of the eerie Phantom. Giving each other a look, they silently decided that there was nothing to worry about, and that it wouldn't be long before they caught up with the rest of the group.

Bravely, with their chins up, the two small girls started walking down the corridor. Lisette tried not to look at the dark shadows cast upon the walls whenever they passed a gaslight. Marie attempted not to think about the whispers from the walls that Meg had described in her story. Together, they tried to put thoughts of the Ghost out of their minds.

Simultaneously, the jumped and squeaked when they heard the rustle of a cloak and heavy footsteps behind them.

Clutching onto each other, the two girls gasped and swirled to look behind themselves with frantic, darting eyes. They saw nothing. Only the dark shadows on the walls and the absence of other people. They stood frozen, their breath coming in short gasps, listening for the footsteps. They heard nothing. Lisette let go of Marie, and turned to look at her with a scornful eye.

"You little wretch! You've gotten me all nervous!"

"Me? What have I done? It was you who screamed first!"

"That's not what I mean! If you had been ready on time, then we wouldn't be walking around all alone and we wouldn't be this jittery!"

Marie huffed. "Well, as I seem to recall, you weren't exactly ready to go yourself, you little--"

"Ssshh!" Lisette interrupted her, placing her finger to her lips. She was looking about herself again, her eyes wide in the dim light. "I think I heard something."

Forgetting that they were angry with each other, the girls clutched hands.

"What did you hear?" Marie asked, her voice nearly trembling.

"I-it sounded like footsteps again... only closer."

"How much closer?" Marie whispered.

"Like they were right... behind... us." Lisette risked a glance at Marie, who looked just as frightened as she felt. Marie took a deep breath, before ever so slowly starting to turn her head. Lisette followed suit, feeling her heart begin to beat erratically.

Slowly, inch by inch, the girls turned their heads to see what was behind them.

They turned.

They blinked.

They frowned in confusion.

There was nothing there. Not a ghost, not a singer, not another dancer, not a patron or even a manager. Just the same shadows that had been there twenty seconds ago. Just the same dark emptiness. The girls released pent up breath.

"Idiot," Marie said, letting go of Lisette's hand. "There's absolutely nothing there. You're getting yourself worked up over nothing."

"But I heard footsteps! I swear to you, someone was there, right behind us!"

"You're letting your imagination run away with you. Footsteps, indeed. You were probably only hearing your own footsteps echoing off of the walls!"

"But they were too heavy to be my own!" Lisette was getting frustrated. She was telling the truth, she knew she was!

Marie simply rolled her eyes at her. "Come along, you little coward, let's get to rehearsal or it'll be our necks."

But as both girls turned to carry on along their way, they almost immediately stopped dead.

In front of them, a tall, silent, looming figure stood, clothed all in black. The girls stared blankly at the figure, their gazes going from his black shoes up to his thin, black-clad legs, up to his swallow tailed coat, his opera cloak, and finally, his masked face. Both girls' eyes widened considerably when they realized that all of the stories about the Opera Ghost's appearance had been wrong. He didn't possess a death's-head, or a head of fire, nor was he invisible. He wore a black silk mask, the better for him to blend in with the shadows.

As Marie and Lisette blinked in fear, the Ghost walked closer to them. Rooted to the spot by abject terror, the girls could only stand there and gape as the object of their every fear approached them. They clasped hands once again.

Lisette was the first one to notice how the Ghost's eyes seemed to glow with a deep fire; the very fires of Hell, she imagined. As he walked even closer to the frightened girls, both of their shimmering eyes seemed to be glued to his own burning ones.

So distracted were they by the Ghost's appearance that they almost didn't catch the words he spoke to them.

"It seems that you two sheep have wandered away from your shepherd. How unfortunate."

Marie quivered and Lisette whimpered. They clutched each other's hands harder and took a step back. To their horror, the Ghost advanced.

"Monsieur," Lisette pleaded, "w-we mean to cause no trouble. I-it's just that we're late for rehearsal, and we really must be going. So, if you please...?"

As Lisette trailed off in her plea, the girls started to walk around the tall, brooding figure of the Ghost, and to their utter relief, he let them. He turned to watch them as they started down the hall again, and to their complete shock, he uttered a deep laugh.

"Very well then, little rats. I shall allow you to take your leave this time. However, do not expect to get away so easily the next time I catch you attempting to arrive late to rehearsal." The Ghost laughed once more, only this time it was darker, and even more frightening.

They vigorously nodded to show they understood. Then Marie clutched Lisette's hand in a vice-like grip, and together they raced off down the hallway, not daring to spare a glance back in the direction they had come.

As the Ghost watched them flee down the hallway, he laughed darkly to himself and shook his head.

'They should know better than to be late for rehearsals,' he thought. 'Well, at least this will give them something to talk about in the dancer's lounge.'

When Lisette and Marie reached the stage, breathless and ashen-faced, they were scolded severely by the director for being late and then sent off to join their rows. The lecture had bounced right off of them, the reprimanding words not sinking in at all. White-faced and still panting, the girls had obeyed the director and joined their rows, where they were at once pierced with the questioning gazes of their peers.

Sharing a brief glance, the girls finally realized what had just happened to them.

It hadn't happened to Meg or Jammes this time; it had happened to them!

With a silent understanding, Marie and Lisette turned back to the inquisitive glances of the other girls.

Then, with a simple look that spoke volumes, the girls explained their terrifying ordeal.

_It was the Ghost!_

They were certainly going to be the most popular girls in the dressing room tonight.

_Finis_

Author's Note: Like it? Hate it? Tell me. :)


	3. Janette

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Gaston Leroux estate, nor do I pretend to be. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: This will be the third chapter. I believe there will be six, just to let you know. Thank you very much to all of my reviewers, an author could not ask for a better crowd of polite phans. Please continue to read, review, and enjoy!

_Janette_

The days that followed Marie and Lisette's telling of their encounter with the Opera Ghost had been high strung, to say the least. Whereas the ballet girls had previously been brave enough to walk through the halls with only three other girls for company, they now could not even leave the dressing room without at least six companions at a time. Knowing that Lisette and Marie had run into the Ghost only half a hallway down from their dressing room put a new trepidation to their steps, a timorousness that even La Sorelli's presence couldn't remedy.

Janette, seventeen years old and far more world wise than the other girls, prided herself on being braver and more rational than her younger peers. As such, today, when all the other girls had already gone home for the evening and Janette still sat at her vanity fixing her powder, she was not at all concerned with having been left behind and all alone in the dressing room. On the contrary; she was glad for the absence of giddy shrieks and twittering giggles that the girls emitted as they flounced about the room, frightening each other and gossiping. Janette was relieved to have a moment's peace in which she could primp and gaze at herself in her peer glass without interruption.

She began to hum to herself as she stood and walked behind the changing screen. She took her time getting dressed, careful not to ruin her dress by smudging it on her freshly applied powder. Once she had straightened her skirt and situated her (somewhat immodest) collar, she went to fix her hair. She took her time again, basking in the idleness that she could take to get ready to leave. Pinning her curls up away from her face, she began to sing full out, not caring how loud she was because she knew that no one could possibly hear her.

"O how strange, like a spell

Does the evening bind me--"

But abruptly she stopped, because she was almost certain that she had heard something that sounded oddly like laughter coming from the walls. Glancing about herself, her eyes suddenly wide and frantic, she cleared her throat and went back to her hair.

"And a deep languid charm

I feel without--"

This time she was _sure_ she had heard a laugh, mocking and cold, coming from the wall directly behind her vanity. She dropped her hands from her hair and glanced about once more. With a deep ignored fear suddenly creeping to her heart, she started to sing again.

"I feel without alarm

With its melody--"

This time, it was a voice that interrupted her.

"I beg of you, mademoiselle, do not slay that song anymore than it has already been slain. We have singers to do that for us."

Janette screamed and jumped to her feet. Gasping and looking around herself in alarm, she stood in the middle of the room, safely away from the talking walls.

"Who's there? Who is that?" she demanded, not at all amused. "If this is some type of silly prank, I don't find it very funny."

"Why, it isn't a prank at all, mademoiselle. It is simply I, your resident Opera Ghost, making a very simple request."

Janette blanched. "The Opera Ghost?" she choked out, her hand flying to her throat.

"Yes, indeed. Now please, will you obey my request?" the Ghost asked in a polite voice. "I already have to tolerate your abysmal dancing, please to not make me endure your even more abysmal singing as well."

Janette's jaw dropped in indignation. "I beg your pardon? The absolute nerve! There's absolutely nothing wrong with my dancing!"

"I beg to differ," the Ghost laughed, obviously enjoying himself. "Your dancing is quite atrocious. Didn't little Giry relay my message to you all?"

"What? No, she did not."

Janette was getting uneasy. She had believed that Meg had been making up that story about her encounter with the Ghost in Box Five. She also thought that Lisette and Marie had been encouraged to make up their own story of meeting the Ghost after they had seen what a stir Meg's story had caused. She thought they had all just been seeking attention, but that their stories were quite untrue. Now she knew for a fact that they weren't...

"Oh, that's really too bad. You'll have to ask her to tell you what it is that I said sometime. I'm sure you'll be most amused."

"I'm sure I will," Janette replied, beginning to scowl.

"But really, mademoiselle, I'd like to return to my request. Please do not sing. It's enough that I have to listen to La Carlotta destroy perfectly harmless music, it's another thing entirely that I have ballet rats to worry about now."

Janette scoffed. "I didn't ask you to listen to me! It's your own fault for eaves dropping!"

"Frankly, mademoiselle, your voice is rather hard to escape. It pierces one's ears in a most unpleasant way."

"I never!" Janette marched over to the vanity and gathered up her gloves. "I don't have to stand here and listen to a _ghost_ insult me!"

With that, she marched proudly out of the dressing room and began to walk furiously down the corridor.

As she began to pull her gloves on, she was most dismayed to realize that a voice was following her.

"You'll find that I'm rather hard to get rid of. Will you agree to my request or not?"

Turning sharply in the direction the voice was coming from, Janette looked blankly into thin air. She turned her head in confusion, expecting to see the Ghost standing there. Lisette and Marie had said that they'd seen the Ghost, and that he looked like a regular man. Janette saw nothing.

"Where are you?" she asked lamely, turning about in all directions.

"I'm right here," the Ghost said, his voice coming from beside Janette's left shoulder.

"Why can't I see you?"

"Because I don't want you to."

"Are you afraid to show yourself to me? I already know what you look like."

"That's not it at all. I just simply don't want you to see me. It's very easy to understand."

Janette put her hands on her hips and stared at the empty space to her left. She scowled and then began to march off again.

"I don't know why I continue to waste my time here. If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than banter with the air."

"You are excused, only if you answer my request."

"What is your request?" Janette snapped, not turning her head.

"You know very well. I want you to promise me that you'll never sing again. You'd be doing us all a favor, you know."

"You're quite a rude spirit, are you aware of that?"

"Yes. Please stop trying to change the subject, I'm not easily thrown off."

Janette walked faster, hoping that she would get rid of the Ghost once she exited the Opera. She all but ran down flights of stairs, until she stood on the _Grande Escalier_. The Ghost, it seemed, had run along with her.

"Please do not think of leaving until you have answered me, mademoiselle."

Janette sighed. "If I answer you, will you _please_ leave me alone?"

"That has been my intention from the start. You made it far more difficult than it had to be. If you had answered my back in your dressing room, you wouldn't have had to run down all those stairs."

Gasping, her corset never feeling tighter, Janette nodded her head in the direction she thought the Ghost might be in, and gave another sigh.

"Fine, monsieur. I concede to your request. I shall never sing in this House again. There. Are you satisfied?"

"Most intensely. You see, mademoiselle? That wasn't difficult at all, was it?"

Janette glared.

"I shall take your silence as a 'No, monsieur.' Splendid. Very well, mademoiselle, you may be on your way."

Janette put her hand to her forehead in exasperation and began to walk down the stairs. She was almost all the way to the bottom when the Ghost called out to her, stopping her in her tracks.

"Be sure to tell all of your friends that you have met the Opera Ghost. You could be the star of the _corps_ for a whole week."

Janette stepped off of the staircase, not looking back up towards the voice. "I'll remember that."

She wondered why in the name of God people were afraid of that Ghost. He was nothing but an annoying nag.

Erik watched as the little ballet rat flounced out of the Opera. Safe in his dark corner, he laughed richly to himself. She had put up a good fight, and she had made it quite hard for him to stay concealed. However, he was much too skilled to let a little girl's storming and raging get the best of him. He allowed himself a few more chuckles, then made his way back to his lair.

Perhaps now he could compose in peace without that girl's horrible voice echoing down into the cellars.

Hopefully she would hold true to her word. Maybe, if Erik was lucky, forever.

_Finis_

Author's Note: Like it? Hate it? Tell me. :)


	4. Gabrielle et Pauline

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Gaston Leroux estate, nor do I pretend to be. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: This will be the fourth (and longest yet) chapter. Yes, I went a bit overboard. It's quite lengthy. Hopefully it won't be oppressive, though. Thank you so very, very much to all of my wonderful, exceptional, and extremely kind reviewers. I am so grateful for all of your kind words! You lot make my day, and I couldn't ask for anything more. I hope this chapter is satisfactory. Please read, review, and enjoy!

_Gabrielle et Pauline_

Despite Janette's persistence, the ballet girls refused to believe that she had met the Ghost and found that he had been a nuisance instead of a terror. Meg insisted that, while he could be polite when he wanted to (ignoring the fact that she herself had made up horror stories about him saying otherwise), he was generally frightening. Lisette and Marie flew into near hysterics at the mere mention of him. They thought that Janette was merely trying to appear brave, and that she wasn't telling the absolute truth in her story. Janette denied this, even though it was true. She had conveniently omitted the part of the tale where she had been terrified out of her skin when he first spoke to her. In fact, she had left out the entire part of the Ghost criticizing her singing abilities and merely told the other girls that he just started speaking to her at random in a deliberate attempt to drive her insane.

Of course, the girls didn't believe her for a moment, especially Gabrielle and Pauline. Of all the younger girls in the corps, Gabrielle and Pauline were, without a doubt, the most superstitious, skittish, gullible, and excitable rats in the group. They hung on Meg and Jammes' every word, believing in every lie, fib, and exaggerated story the older girls told. As such, they only believed in Meg and Jammes' interpretations of the Ghost's behavior, and more recently in Marie and Lisette's. Gabrielle thought that Janette was a dim little fool. Pauline thought she was merely an attention-seeking wretch. They never really liked her in the first place.

One of Gabrielle and Pauline's biggest wishes was that they too would meet the Ghost, and that they would one day be able to tell their own tale of ghosts in black masks, bleeding walls, disembodied voices, and talking chairs. They jumped at any chance they could get of wandering the halls alone, but more often than not became afraid and ran right back to the dressing room, giggling and screaming.

Today was different, though. Today, their mothers both had to stay late at the Opera in order to speak with the management (they both believed that their daughters possessed potential and should therefore be made leaders of rows), and they had allowed Gabrielle and Pauline to go off and play on their own. The girls, ecstatic at the thought of being left alone to wander around the vast empire of the Opera, giggled and scurried off as fast as their little legs could carry them.

At first they raced each other to the dancers' lounge, laughing and screaming, "The Ghost is going to get you!" whenever one or the other fell behind. Once they reached the dancers' lounge, they giggled and ran around the room in glee, but they soon became bored after they had stayed there long enough to realize that the Ghost was not present. Then inspiration struck: they would race to the dressing room! Because that was almost where Marie and Lisette's story had taken place, they deigned that maybe they would meet the Ghost near there too.

However, after trial and error, that novel idea proved untrue as well. Put out but not completely discouraged, the girls wandered out toward the stage deciding that if they couldn't find the Ghost, they might as well have some fun while they were all alone. They stood in the wings, nervous because they were about to do something that could get them in trouble if they were caught, and dared each other to take the first step onto the stage and out into the open.

"You go first," Gabrielle said, "You're older."

"I'm only a month older than you are!" Pauline retorted. "That hardly counts!"

"It counts indeed! It's a whole month's difference!"

"Well, I refuse. If anyone's going to get in trouble first, it's you."

"It's wonderful to know you're such a dependable friend."

"Isn't it? Now go on, you silly coward!"

They bantered back and forth for a while, until Gabrielle was finally bullied into going out first. She peeked her head around the curtain to make sure no stray ushers or stagehands were loitering around in the audience, before cautiously stepping out onto the stage and walking to the center. After a few seconds, Pauline followed, giggling the whole way.

Center stage, Gabrielle did a series of _pas de bourrees _and _sautes _while Pauline did _pirouettes_ in a large circle around her. The girls giggled and screeched, ecstatic that for once they had the stage all to themselves. They each took turns pretending that they were La Sorelli, and giggled at each other's impressions.

Gabrielle had just walked downstage to take her "final bow" when from out of nowhere, a loud laugh filled the auditorium.

Gabrielle halted in mid-curtsy, her head snapping up and her eyes going wide. Pauline stood frozen behind her, her face going white. The laugh sounded again, more sharply this time, and Gabrielle shot back to Pauline, her hand catching hold of the other girl's. The two little rats stood center stage, terrified and excited all at once.

"It's the Opera Ghost!" Pauline whispered, frightened but still anxious.

"I know. What do we do?" Gabrielle whispered back.

"I don't know," Pauline answered. "We can't run away, we've finally got the chance to meet him!"

"Yes," Gabrielle muttered, her cheeks going as white as a sheet. "But now I'm not so sure that I want to."

"Don't be foolish! You know we've waited--"

"Why, whatever can you two _petite rats_ be discussing now?" a silky voice cut in, halting Pauline's reprimand.

The girls stood stiffly, their hands clinging tightly to each other. The Ghost's voice had seemed far off a moment ago, as if it were coming from Box Five. But now it seemed far closer, as if it were right in front of them.

"W-we... we were just discussing..." Gabrielle began as she glanced frantically around herself, her words halting and frightened. "Well, not t-to be rude, you understand, but we were discussing...."

"Me?" the Ghost finished helpfully.

"Yes," Pauline replied, as Gabrielle seemed almost about to collapse.

"I see. And what is it about me that you were discussing?"

"Well," Pauline began, looking off into the distance and feeling awkward, "We were just saying that we wanted the chance to meet you, to be perfectly honest, monsieur."

The Ghost chuckled deeply, seemingly flattered by her confession. Either flattered or insulted, Gabrielle thought, and he could just be laughing in order to refrain from shouting. That chuckle seemed rather humorless....

"I was not aware that I was so popular amongst you dancers," the Ghost said, though his tone implied otherwise.

"Well, yes, monsieur, you are," Gabrielle said, her knees beginning to shake. "In fact, Pauline and I were rather hoping, monsieur, that we might be able to see you. I-if you don't mind, that is, monsieur," she added hastily.

The Ghost was silent for a long moment, and the girls grew apprehensive. Gabrielle thought that she had offended him deeply, and was about to begin apologizing for her brashness when he suddenly spoke again.

"I shall grant you this request today because I am in an unusually good mood. But you must never ask it of me again, for I do not often grant silly ballet girls' wishes and I don't want any rumors to get out that I am some kind of genie in a lamp or some such nonsense." The Ghost paused as if to impress this information upon them. "Do you understand?"

The girls nodded quickly and attempted to hide their triumphant grins. They were about to see the Opera Ghost! Oh, how jealous the other girls would be once they told them that the Ghost had done a favor explicitly for them!

"Very well," the Ghost said. "Turn to your left, and look your fill."

Still clasping hands, the girls slowly turned and gazed off into the wings on their left.

They had to squint because of the blackness of the shadows, but they distinctly saw the outline of a man in a black swallow-tailed coat. He appeared to have his back turned to them.

Then he turned sharply, and the girls did a double-take.

His face was not covered by a black mask as Lisette and Marie had said. His face, for all they could see, was a skull. The skin was pulled tight over his cheekbones, causing his cheeks to look hollow and sunken. More terrifying still, he had no nose. In place of it was a gaping black hole, creating a morbid contrast with the paleness of his yellowish skin. His eyes were sunk so deep into the sockets that it appeared that he didn't have any at all. This illusion would have been complete had it not been for the deep, fiery light that could be seen in the black holes of his absent eyes, blazing with an intensity that was even more frightening than his lack of a nose. Gabrielle and Pauline took all of this in within a few moments, because as soon as the Ghost had seen their jaws drop open he must have become invisible again, for all the girls could tell.

Gabrielle's eyes had begun to well up in fear, and Pauline had gone paler than before. Before Gabrielle could understand what had happened, Pauline had collapsed onto the stage beside her in a dead faint. She gasped and knelt down, beginning to shake her friend. Distantly, she heard the Ghost speak to her almost sadly: "Go and get her mother to help her, little Gabrielle. You two should have an adult with you when you wander around the Opera, you know. It's dangerous to be here all alone."

Dimly, Gabrielle nodded. "But I can't leave her alone... what shall I do?"

She heard the Ghost sigh. "I shall see what I can do, I suppose. But this really must be the last favor I do for you, little rat. Nothing but trouble has come from the previous favor I gave you, you understand."

"Y-yes," Gabrielle stuttered, "If you please, monsieur. If it's not too much trouble... I mean, if you would."

The Ghost gave a rueful little laugh. "Yes, I would, mademoiselle."

Moments later, Gabrielle was left alone. She knelt by Pauline and kept her company (as much company as one requires when one is unconscious) until their mothers arrived a few minutes later, followed by the managers, who were looking harassed.

Pauline's mother flew to her daughter's side, smelling salts at the ready. She waved them around under her daughter's nose until the girl's eyes flew open and she began to gasp and cough. She stared around herself wildly, orienting herself to her surroundings, before her eyes finally landed on Gabrielle. She grabbed her friend's hand and stared up at her with frightened eyes.

"What happened to the Ghost? Where did he go?"

Gabrielle was about to reply when her mother cut in. "This is no time to sit and discuss make believe ghosts, girls. Pauline, you need to go home and get some rest at once." The two managers helped raise Pauline to her feet, where she stood wobbling a bit before they set off back towards the hall that would lead them out of the auditorium.

Gabrielle lagged behind, making sure Pauline didn't topple backwards. She wondered how the Ghost had told their mothers that they were in trouble? Surely he hadn't just walked in and reported their situation to them? She wanted so badly to speak with Pauline about it, but that seemed out of the question at the moment as Pauline's mother was currently berating her daughter for not using good judgment, even though Pauline probably understood only half of what was being said to her. Gabrielle knew she would receive the same lecture when she got home.

Right now, Gabrielle wished very much to thank the Ghost for helping her and Pauline, even though it was their own fault that Pauline had fainted. Purposely, Gabrielle silently fell far behind the group, and gazed off into the shadows. Feeling silly, she gave a small curtsy to the wall.

"Thank you for your help, Monsieur le Fantome. You really are quite a nice ghost."

She wasn't entirely sure, but she almost thought she heard a light laugh. Then, seemingly floating upon the air, she heard him reply, "You're quite welcome, little Gabrielle. You really are a very troublesome little rat."

Hearing the light tone in his voice, Gabrielle smiled. "Merci, monsieur."

"De rien, mademoiselle."

Gabrielle decided then that she believed Meg when the other girl said that the Ghost could be polite when he wanted to be. She thought that he was almost downright charming. Almost.

Still smiling, Gabrielle turned and ran to catch up with her mother and the rest of the group.

In his corner, Erik sighed to himself. These girls were just children. He didn't mind if they made up stories about him; that was why he had let these two little rats have a look at his face. They only did it to amuse themselves and impress others. They didn't mean any real harm.

Erik smirked and shook his head, then wandered slowly back to his home. Perhaps he would have to listen in on what kind of exaggerated stories these two girls told about his face.

Surely this was bound to be the best tale ever told in the dancers' dressing room. Who knew? It may even top one of little Meg's.

But, that _was_ slightly hard to believe.

_Finis_

Author's Note: Like it? Hate it? Tell me. :)


	5. Jammes

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Gaston Leroux estate, nor do I pretend to be. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: Well, then. That little bout of writer's block turned into a very unexpected hiatus, didn't it? Please forgive me for how long this chapter has taken to come out. Real life isn't lenient in terms of free time. This chapter is somewhat less light-hearted than the past ones have been, don't ask me why. I started writing with a particular theme in mind and this is what came out instead. I don't have the heart to rewrite it, though, cute little devil that it is. Nevertheless, please read, review, and enjoy!

_Jammes_

Despite the common belief that a ballet girl who had spotted the Ghost would gush for weeks about her experience, Gabrielle and Pauline did no such thing. In fact, the days following their encounter with the Ghost consisted of rather tense silence and secrecy. Try as the other girls might to get a good story out of them, the two little rats wouldn't indulge their comrades regardless of how they were badgered. The other girls couldn't believe it; all that Gabrielle and Pauline had ever wanted was to meet the Opera Ghost. Now that they had, their peculiar silence was terribly shocking and uncharacteristic.

Unbeknownst to their fellows, Gabrielle and Pauline had promised each other that their true story would stay their own, and at Gabrielle's request, no make believe stories would be told in its place. Pauline had found it most irritating that Gabrielle had asked this of her; how could one be expected not to say a peep about such a grand adventure, especially when it meant instant popularity, and then not be allowed even to dream one up instead? Yet Gabrielle had insisted: It was to be their secret what the Ghost really looked like, and though she complained at first, Pauline complied.

So thereafter, when they mentioned in passing that they had met the Ghost and the torrent of questions from their peers came, the girls merely shrugged and said "It's indescribable." To Pauline's immense relief, this did not hinder their growing popularity-- it helped it. The other girls goaded them relentlessly for their tale, but the two never complied. In the other girls' eyes, this meant that the experience had either been too traumatizing to describe, or that the girls were simply holding out in order to prolong the shock of the story. Either way, Gabrielle and Pauline were followed around endlessly, becoming over-night stars of the dressing room without ever saying a word of their encounter with the Opera Ghost.

Jammes, never one to pass up a good horror story, was one of the relentless questioners. However, after almost a week of straight silence from Gabrielle and Pauline, she began to lose interest. Instead of pestering them with questions whenever they walked into the room, Jammes started to ignore them and went about her business. Within another week, the rest of the girls began to lose interest as well, giving the two little rats up as a lost cause. Soon, however, the girls started to become anxious, waiting on pins and needles for the next Ghost sighting to occur. If something new didn't happen soon, they were sure that they would die of boredom.

It was inevitable that one of them would bump into their favorite Phantom sooner or later.

It just so happened that Jammes was in the right place at the right time when the inevitable occurred.

It had been a tense week, what with the girls snooping around every corner, peering into every nook and cranny in search of the Ghost, hoping to find him in order to be the triumphant rat who came back to the dressing room with a fresh tale to tell. It almost seemed that they had a contest going on amongst themselves. In any case, each girl wanted to be the victor, and the endless sneaking, lurking, and waiting was a tremendous strain on all of them.

Which is why it was almost humorous when Jammes found the Ghost, quite on accident, the way she did.

Well, maybe humorous was the wrong word for it....

She had been wandering the corridors alone, as she had taken to doing over the last few days, looking searchingly into every dark corner she could find with blind hope. So far, all her prying and searching had remained fruitless, for she had yet to find any trace of the Ghost. Her aggravation mounting, she wandered from corner to corner, corridor to corridor, hunting for something she knew she probably wouldn't be able to see even if it walked up and poked her in the side.

Hence the reason for her shock and terror when just the very thing happened.

Screaming in surprised panic, Jammes whirled around in a frantic circle, her eyes darting about in fear. There was nothing there. Nothing that she could see, anyway.

"Wonderful," she whispered to herself. "Now you're imagining things."

"No, not quite imagining, little Jammes."

The fear she'd kept at bay for the past few seconds suddenly exploded in a rush of breath as she gasped and whirled about once more. Still nothing there. She glanced about warily.

"Who's there?" She asked the empty corridor.

"Why, the one you've been searching for so earnestly, of course," the voice replied to her right.

Jammes looked about. "The Opera Ghost?" She asked, ridiculously.

"Indeed," he replied. "Are you happy you've found me? Or should I say, that _I've_ found _you_?"

Jammes swallowed. "Yes, I suppose that would be more correct. And yes, I suppose I am rather happy you've found me." That last part was a lie. Now that he was here, Jammes suddenly wished he would leave. She didn't like knowing he was there, but not being able to see him.

"You are happy? I suppose you have every right to be. Goodness knows, you'll be very popular and envied once you return back to the rest of the rats. I know you've all been bored to the point of desperation for the past few weeks due to my lack of appearance. You'll have to forgive my absence. You see, I have more pressing matters to attend to than humoring silly ballet girls."

Jammes noticed that as he spoke, his voice seemed to be circling her, and she imagined that if he were visible he would probably look very much like a wolf circling a helpless sheep. She also noticed that his voice held a kind of suppressed iciness, and she could sense that he wasn't in a good humor at all. She wondered briefly what had transpired in order to make him angry.

"Monsieur le fantome," she began shakily, "If any of us girls have done anything to offend you, I offer my most sincere apologies on all our behalves." Perhaps it was best to try and pinpoint his anger and try to ease it before it became disastrous.

Suddenly she imagined that she could almost feel his icy breath by her left ear and she cringed. "You have done nothing but annoy me for the entirety of your career here, little Jammes, but rest assured that the anger that you sense from me now has nothing to do with you or any of the other ballet girls." The Ghost seemed to be everywhere at once now, the icy breath from her imagination now gone and replaced with his echoing voice as it reverberated off the walls around her. Jammes glanced about frantically, trying to follow the sound vainly with her eyes.

Expressing more courage than she felt, Jammes chanced the question, "What is it that's gotten you so angry then, monsieur?"

She regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth.

With a cry that echoed throughout the corridor, the Ghost seemed to fly into an even worse rage than Jammes had at first suspected. His voice seemed as loud as thunder as he cried at her, "That is not information for you to know! It is enough that you simply hear me, little Jammes, and that I indulge you in your greed as much as I do now! Do not try my patience by asking impertinent questions!"

Cowering in the wake of a tyrant she could not even see, Jammes crouched down on the ground and suddenly held her hands out in a pleading gesture.

"Forgive me, please, monsieur! I did not mean to be impertinent! Please, please don't be angry with me!" As hard as she tried to will herself not to, she began to weep a little as she sat crouched on the floor, trembling in terror.

It seemed that the air around her, which had moments ago seemed full of terrible energy, suddenly calmed and stilled. The Ghost was silent, and Jammes merely sat and stared about herself with wide, wet eyes. Then it seemed that the air in the corridor was moved by the Ghost's weary sigh.

"No, little Jammes, I must ask for _your_ forgiveness. What has occurred recently has been a matter of a personal nature, and is no fault of yours. You must forgive me for taking my anger out on you. You're just a child, after all...."

The Ghost trailed off, as if lost in thought. Jammes wiped at her face and began to stand up. She looked about herself uncertainly as she smoothed her skirts, still feeling conscious of the Ghost's presence but not knowing exactly where he was.

"I forgive you, of course, monsieur." She glanced about again, wondering if he was next to her. "Is there anything that I could possibly do to help your situation, monsieur?"

Again the Ghost gave a sigh. "Please, mademoiselle, just keep yourself and your little friends from looking for me for a little while. Play at other games; try to find some other way to amuse yourselves other than seeking me out and expecting me to entertain you. I am sorry that you have had to face my fury this day, but you must understand that a ghost can only take so much of the little games you children like to play. Do you understand, mademoiselle?"

Jammes nodded. "I understand. I'm sorry that it had to come to this, monsieur, that we aided in your frustration."

"Do not apologize, little Jammes. Just agree to my request."

"I agree, monsieur, and I'll see that the other girls do too."

"Merci, mademoiselle."

"De rien, monsieur."

And with that, Jammes sensed that she had been left alone. The corridor seemed to become harmless once more, now void of the Ghost's dark presence. Jammes wondered vaguely how long she had been standing there, and suddenly felt very tired. Looking about herself once more with a rueful expression, she turned and trotted back to the dressing room.

Though she knew that this would make for a wonderful story upon her return, she thought it might be best that she tell it tomorrow, when the cantankerous fury of the Opera Ghost might have somewhat abated.

When she arrived, ashen faced and red-eyed, she brushed all the other girls aside as she made her way toward the nearest divan, which she then collapsed upon. When the other girls asked her excitedly about what had happened to her, their eyes gleaming in eager anticipation, all Jammes could do was shrug, sigh wearily and say,

"It's indescribable."

_Finis_

Author's Note: Like it? Hate it? Tell me. :)


	6. Meg: Coming Full Circle

Author's Note: Last chapter, mes amis! Forgive its length; once I started I couldn't stop. It's a bit more down to earth than the previous chapters, and more poignant, in my opinion. I hope you all enjoy. For those who are interested, I'm thinking of writing a phic about Meg's life after the "Phantom" story takes place; her growing up and becoming a baroness. If anyone is interested, let me know. I'm not sure yet if I will be writing it, but we'll see.

Thank you to everyone who stayed with me through this. Enjoy.

_Meg: Coming Full Circle_

The day that Jammes told the tale of her traumatic adventure, the corps de ballet found themselves less eager to go in search of the Ghost, and were even reticent about telling stories about him. None of them wanted to arouse his vengeful fury like Jammes had, and they decided, after Jammes told them of the Ghost's request for solitude, that they would find alternative ways to amuse them selves for the time being.

By the next week, though, the girls were beginning to get bored once again. They began to whisper stories at rehearsal and peek into dark corners again. Though Jammes warned them all of the magnitude of the Ghost's fury, the girls didn't listen to her. They continued to play their games and tell their stories, and wait for an appearance from the Opera Ghost.

They were most disappointed when the Ghost failed to make an appearance after a full month had passed.

"That seems strange indeed," they would say to each other. "He's never been _this _tardy before! He usually appears within a few weeks!" They continued to search for him in vain, hoping that their dark playmate would soon return and indulge them.

Their thoughts of silly games vanished, however, the night that the chandelier plummeted most unexpectedly into the orchestra seats during a performance of _Faust_.

It was a night that Meg would remember with utmost clarity for the rest of her life. The poor woman that had been hired to replace her mother as usher of Box Five had been killed under the weight of the grand chandelier, and Meg had watched it happen as she peeked out of the wings during Carlotta's fateful aria (which would also go down in history as the "Toad Event," at least in Meg's mind). She could not believe her own eyes as she watched as the chandelier crashed to the floor and the audience fled for their lives. It was all anyone could talk about for the next few weeks, even the ballet girls. Thoughts of the Ghost never even came to their minds.

Today, though, as Meg stretched her legs on the barre during class, she found herself thinking of him. It had been most strange that no one had seen any sign of him lately, and Meg was becoming very curious as to his whereabouts. Had he been present the night the chandelier had fallen? Had he been the one who had _dropped _it? After all, it certainly was an odd coincidence that the only woman to be killed during the accident was the one that the managers had hired to replace Meg's mother, the Ghost's faithful usher. Meg wondered if her assumptions were true, and decided that, as soon as possible, she would try to find out for sure.

----

Meg was distracted for many days after she resolved to find the Ghost and question him due to various different occurrences: the Bal Masque (the strange attendee dressed as the Red Death was yet another cause for gossip, which also took up some of her time), her time-consuming classes, and rehearsals for the next performance of _Faust_. Meg tried to keep her wits about her and focus on her work rather than the endless chatter that all of the other girls were constantly taking part in. The latest bit of news that circled throughout the dressing room like wildfire was that the little Daae girl and the Vicomte de Chagny were planning to elope. Meg refused to be sucked into the rats' spiteful conversations about the poor girl. She didn't care what Daae did on her own time, and if she wanted to shame herself by trying to marry someone so much higher on the social scale than she, so be it. It didn't concern her.

The only thing that concerned Meg now was finding the Ghost and speaking with him about the chandelier incident. Though it was now considered old news, Meg still wanted to ask the Ghost if it had been he who had dropped it. Though it shamed her to think so, she felt rather grateful for whatever force had caused the chandelier to crash to the floor. If it hadn't been for that catastrophe, her mother wouldn't have gotten her old job back, and the two of them would have ended up on the street. Though Meg tried to tell herself that it wasn't so, the real reason she wanted to find the Ghost was to thank him, if it had indeed been he who dropped it.

When she finally had a free moment, Meg walked determinedly to the Ghost's box. Regardless of who may have passed by and witnessed her snooping, Meg marched up to the door and pulled a pin from her hair to pick the lock. Once the latch clicked, Meg turned the knob, quickly looked around to make sure no one was watching, and entered the Box Five for the second time.

Meg was struck by how silent it was. There were no rehearsals today, and most of the employees of the Opera were at home, or sleeping in the back. Meg had never heard such silence in the house before. As she sank down into a chair, she wondered if the Ghost was sitting in his own chair again, listening to the same odd silence that she was. Ridiculously, Meg looked to her right as if expecting to see him sitting there beside her. She was not entirely surprised when she saw nothing but air.

Meg sighed and stretched, relaxing into the comfortable chair. Even if she didn't find the Ghost here, it was still a welcome comfort to sit down for a moment and rest her weary legs. Perhaps if she waited here long enough, the Ghost would come and find her. Deciding that that was the best she could manage in terms of finding him for the time being, Meg spread out onto the chair and closed her eyes.

She must have dropped off for a moment, because she suddenly woke with a start when she heard the sound of something heavy rotating, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Opening her eyes, Meg spun in the chair only to be met with the sight of a tall, thin man in a mask standing before her, staring at her with what could only be described as incredulous shock. She had found the Ghost at last-- or rather, _he_ had found _her_.

He stood by the pillar to her left, his tall form looming over her as she sat staring up at him with wide eyes. She noticed the way he seemed to shrink from her gaze, his shoulders slightly hunched as if expecting her to lash out at him with her small hands. They stared at one another for a very long moment, before Meg broke the oppressive silence with a courteous, "Bonjour, monsieur." She rose out of her chair to offer him a curtsey.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he answered in kind, giving her a stiff bow. Meg noticed the tightness in his voice, the weakness that he seemed to be attempting to hide. She wondered if he was ill.

"I've been meaning to ask you something, monsieur," she told him cordially. "It's why I've come, you see. I wouldn't have intruded if I hadn't had a good reason, so I hope you'll hear me out."

For a moment he seemed to weigh his options, as if he were contemplating whether or not she was worthy of his time. Whatever he had been thinking, though, he finally ended up nodding curtly and walking past her to his chair, signaling her to ask her question.

Meg stood by her chair and twisted her hands. Now that the moment had arrived, she felt that perhaps her question was impertinent and rude, and thought that maybe she shouldn't ask it. However, when the Ghost glared at her with his burning, impatient eyes, Meg launched into her inquiry.

"You see, monsieur, I was simply wondering if you had anything to do with the chandelier. If you did, I merely wanted to thank you."

The Ghost looked at her for a moment, his eyes registering shock. "I may have," he told her evasively. "But tell me, child, why ever would you want to thank a murderer?"

Meg had the grace to blush. She knew that she was a wicked child, she just couldn't help but feel grateful. "I'm simply thankful because it got my mama her position back. If it weren't for you, we would be penniless. Was it really you that did it?" She urged him to answer the question.

The Ghost sighed wearily. Meg noticed that he seemed to collapse into himself. "Because I know I can trust you, and because I owe so much to your mother, I will answer you truthfully." Meg held her breath. The Ghost speared her with his eyes. "Yes, little Giry. It was I."

Meg released her breath and smiled shyly at him. "Thank you, monsieur. That was all I wanted to know. I'll leave you in peace now. Good day."

But before she could turn to leave, the Ghost held out his hand to halt her steps. "Wait, please, mademoiselle."

Meg turned to face him and sat down when he bid her to. She studied his form: the way he seemed to be slowly dying as she watched, the way he shook with every breath he took, and the way his hands seemed to shake with some kind of inner anxiety. Anxiety or bitter rage, Meg reasoned. She wondered again if there was something wrong with him.

"Little Giry," he said now, reaching out to her as if he meant to touch her but drawing back at the last minute. "I came here today to leave something for your mother. She has been so good to me for so long, and I wanted to give her a small token of my appreciation." The Ghost turned from her and took a small package out of a hidden pocket in his coat. "Just a little something that I know she is fond of, and of course her usual pay, with some extra. However, since you're here now, I might as well give them to you to give to her. That would make things easier, in some ways." He handed Meg the box, careful not to touch her hand as he did so. "Tell her that I am eternally grateful for all that she has done for me, and that I shall never forget her kindness."

It seemed to Meg that the Ghost died a little bit after he had handed her the box. Meg's hands began to shake as she held it carefully, as if it were a fragile piece of glass. It was, in fact, a box of the tart candy that her mother so loved, with an envelope tucked under the ribbon. Meg stared at it as if it were a treasure, its significance not escaping her, but she did not fully comprehend why she found it so significant. Perhaps it was the reverent way the Ghost had given it to her, or the words he had just spoken that struck some kind of deep chord within her. She looked back up at him with a somber expression on her face.

"I shall give it to her, monsieur. And I shall tell her what you said, as well." Meg stood to leave once more, but the Ghost called her back again.

"Please, mademoiselle, wait for just one more moment." Meg sat down once again, looking hard at the Ghost's face. "I wanted to give you something as well."

This time, the Ghost produced a fragile necklace from his pocket, upon which hung a small, delicate locket. Meg watched as he handled it reverently, twining the chain through his thin, trembling fingers.

"I wanted you to have this, little Giry, as a token of the small joy that you have brought me. Though you and your little friends are as irritating as one can imagine at times, you have filled my days with a childlike innocence that I cannot remember ever possessing. For that, I must thank you." He held the locket out to her, and she took it in her small white hand. The gold chain twinkled in the dim light, and all Meg could do was stare at its simple beauty.

"Merci beaucoup, monsieur," she said breathlessly, and looked up at him to find him looking right back at her. She was surprised to see what she thought to be tears forming in his deep-set eyes. She was even more surprised to find that she herself suddenly felt like weeping.

"De rien, mademoiselle. Take good care of it."

"I shall." Meg fumbled with the clasp before putting it around her neck and letting it hang next to her crucifix. "I'll never take it off."

"Very good," the Ghost said, and though Meg could not tell, she thought he might have smiled sadly at her.

Meg sat there with him for a long time after that, toying with the chain of the necklace and the ribbon on the box for her mama. She found that she was reluctant to leave, though she could not explain why. She wished that she could stay here forever with the Ghost, sitting in companionable silence for the rest of her life. She knew, however, that she could not, and when at last the Ghost sighed and began to stir stiffly from his place next to her, Meg knew that it was time to leave.

They rose simultaneously, the silence between them still permeable but beginning to dissipate.

"I must be going," Meg said regretfully. "Mama will be wondering where I've gotten to."

"Yes," the Ghost sighed, "I must be going as well. There are some things that still need arranging, things that must still be done...."

Meg wondered what he could be talking about, but didn't ask him. Instead, she gave a brief curtsey and smiled up at the Ghost. "It's been nice talking with you again, monsieur." Meg knew that they hadn't really done much talking, but she still enjoyed his odd company. "I hope we might be able to do it again sometime."

The Ghost looked away from her, his eyes downcast and forlorn. He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her, before meeting her eyes again sadly.

"I'm afraid we won't."

Meg looked at him in shock, feeling cold due to the dullness of his voice. The Ghost walked past her and opened the door, holding it so that she could exit.

Slowly, Meg walked past him and out the door, where she turned back to look at him once more.

"Au revoir, then, monsieur."

"Adieu, mademoiselle."

And he shut the door, leaving Meg alone in the deserted corridor.

----

Back at home, Meg handed her mother the Ghost's gift and gave her the Ghost's thanks. She then went to her room and closed the door, before sitting in a chair by the window so that she could read the letter that the Ghost had given her. She opened the envelope and unfolded the paper inside, her heart beating for some reason she could not explain.

As she began to read, she fingered the locket around her neck pensively.

"_Dearest little Meg,_

_You will understand well enough when the time comes. But for now, accept these as my parting words to you. More than you know, you hold a special place in this aging monster's heart. Remember the Opera Ghost as he was: vengeful, demanding, and terrifying. But remember more than anything his gift to you, and how dear your dancing and laughter was to him. _

_Eternally,_

_Erik"_

By the time she had finished, Meg had begun to weep silently.

----

The days following Christine Daae's second disappearance were all a blur to Meg. She didn't trouble herself with wondering about where the girl had gone after the stage blacked out during _Faust _that night, or where she had been rumored to have run off to. All Meg knew was that the girl was no longer in the Opera, and that the Comte de Chagny was dead, and that his brother was also missing. Meg tried to ignore the rumor that the rats were weaving stating that the Vicomte had killed his brother and run off with Christine, dismissing it as stupid and far-fetched. Her thoughts weren't on the sordid affairs of some silly chorus girl and her liaisons. Her thoughts weren't really on much of anything, lately.

It was three weeks after Daae had disappeared that Meg found it. She had been sitting in the dressing room in a corner, reading the newspaper and trying not to listen to the gossip flitting back and forth between the over-excited girls.

"Did you hear that they've run off to London?"

"London! That's hardly romantic at all! I heard they ran off to India!"

"You goose, that's absurd! Why would they go through all that trouble of killing his brother just to run out of the country?"

"They didn't kill his brother, the Opera Ghost did!"

"Must you relate _everything_ back to the Opera Ghost?"

And on, and on, and on it went. Meg was just starting to develop a splitting headache when she happened to turn the page to the obituaries.

That was when she saw it.

To any other person in Paris, it would seem insignificant. It would actually seem quite cruel, really, to give someone such a small oration. But to Meg, it seemed to scream off the page at her:

"Erik is dead."

She stared at the three words for a long time, as if by staring at them she could make them disappear. But she couldn't, and they continued to mock her with their plainness, the loneliness that they seemed to convey in their simple structure. As quietly and as calmly as she could, Meg folded the paper and left the dressing room.

She walked down the halls as if in a trance until she reached Box Five. She was most surprised to find the door unlocked, and even more surprised when she pushed the door open to find cleaning supplies sitting by the Ghost's chair. She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Michelle, one of the cleaning ladies, come trotting up to the door.

"Afternoon, Meg!" Michelle greeted her happily.

"Bonjour, Michelle," Meg answered less enthusiastically. "What are you doing here?"

"The obvious, obviously, Meg." Michelle laughed and gestured to her rags and broom. Meg attempted a small smile.

"Oui," she agreed. "But what I mean is, why are you cleaning in here? No one ever comes into the Ghost's box at this time of day, as far as I know..." Meg trailed off, hoping that she didn't give herself away with her knowledge of the cleaning ladies' schedules. It wouldn't do for Michelle to know that Meg had snuck into the box more than once.

"Well, the box has been sold for tonight! The managers sent me to clean it up proper for tonight's occupants. Isn't that wonderful, Meg?"

Meg felt cold. They had sold the Ghost's box.... How? Why?

Meg realized that Michelle was looking at her oddly, and remembered that she had asked her a question. "Oh, yes," she said hastily, "It's wonderful."

"I say, it was certainly odd the way they told me about it. They says to me, 'Go clean up Box Five straight away! We're finally going to be able to sell it on opening night!' I wondered out loud how they could possibly sell the Ghost's box, and they says to me, 'Not that it's any of your damn business'-- I wager they don't care for me much none-- 'But we received a letter from the Ghost not three days ago claiming that he's retiring his claim on it!' Oh, they seemed pleased as could be, I'll tell you that, Meg."

Meg didn't know what to say, but she had heard all she needed to. Her silent question had been answered, and she felt suddenly colder than she had before.

Giving some vague response to Michelle as well as a parting "Au revoir," Meg turned from the cleaning woman and walked around the corner. There she stopped and sat upon the carpet, staring blankly ahead of herself and waiting for Michelle to finish up with her work. Once she heard the woman come out and close the door without locking it, Meg stood and waited for a few moments before walking back around the corner towards the box before silently letting herself in.

The chorus was rehearsing down on the stage. Meg sank to the floor to avoid being seen and leaned against the Ghost's old chair, which smelled of fresh polish. She knew all she needed to know now, and suddenly the Ghost's letter made more sense: _You will understand well enough when the time comes_. Yes, she understood. His parting gift, his parting words, his strange appearance the last day she had spoken with him; they all should have been enough to tell her that he was nearing the end of his life. Perhaps in some ways, they _had_ told her. Surely she knew on some level that he wasn't well. Perhaps she just didn't want to believe it. Perhaps she just wanted to go on pretending that he really _was _a ghost, something incapable of dying. His letter should have canceled out that possibility, though, when he signed it with an actual name.

Erik.

The thought of it brought fresh tears to her eyes, and Meg began to weep uncontrollably. She hadn't known him very well, so why did she feel such a strong attachment to the man? Of course he had helped her in many ways, not just financially. He had gotten the managers to notice her and make her the leader of a row; he had played games with her and helped her become popular with the other rats; he had complimented her when she felt inferior; and now he had given her a very precious gift. Were all of these reasons enough for one to feel so attached to someone that they should mourn their death? Meg thought so, so that was just what she did for what felt like hours on end.

When at last her tears had somewhat subsided, Meg pulled her locket out and began to toy with it. The act gave her some comfort, and she realized suddenly that she had never opened it. Feeling like a fool, she slipped the small clasp open and took it off her neck so as to be able to look at the picture with the proper side up.

Prizing the small thing open with her fingernail, she held her breath as she opened the gold locket like a tiny book.

Inside of it were two pictures; one was of a woman with golden hair and a stern but beautiful face, and the other was of a dark-haired man with kind eyes and a hard mouth. Meg wondered for a moment who the pair could be, before a thought struck her: They were his parents.

Though she did not know if she were correct in her assumption, Meg felt certain that they had to be Erik's mother and father. Why else would he have their pictures in little on something that was worn so closely to his heart? The thought that he had given something so precious to her, of all people, made her eyes fill with tears once more. She closed the locket and clutched it to her breast as her eyes overflowed for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Rising up, Meg sat herself carefully in Erik's old chair, taking care not to be seen by the actors below. She put the necklace back on and felt it hang delicately next to her heart, the cold metal of the chain a welcome reminder of its comforting presence. Meg looked about herself with resigned sorrow, knowing that Erik would never occupy this box again. The thought was painful, but Meg did not allow herself to start crying again.

She sat there for at least an hour, absorbing the last remnants of her fabled Ghost's presence. When at last she felt that if she stayed any longer she would not leave at all, Meg rose from her place ruefully and made her way slowly toward the door. Soon enough she would have to start warming up for tonight's performance, and the new occupants of the box would be coming in to sit down.

At the door, her hand on the knob, Meg turned back for one final look at the box that had belonged to her strange friend and benefactor. She smiled sadly at his chair and wiped her eyes clear of the new tears that had begun to spring up. This would be the last time she would sneak into this box now, for soon it would be nothing more than a cesspool for painful memories. Meg turned her hand on the knob and began to exit. Standing in the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest, Meg whispered her own last words to her Ghost:

"Adieu, mon ami."

And she shut the door on her childhood games.

_Fin._

Author's Note: The End. Like it? Hate it? Tell me. :)


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